


Our Tragedy Today

by eggshellseas



Category: Rope (1948)
Genre: Dominance, M/M, Object Insertion, Porn Battle, dark & dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggshellseas/pseuds/eggshellseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon had concluded that it was the ideal opportunity for them “to explore the fine art of sodomy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Tragedy Today

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-film, written for Porn Battle IX

All the lights were on, which was unusual. They typically did this kind of thing in the dark, but Brandon was conducting an experiment that day, and so had to be able to observe clearly every shudder and twitch of Phillip’s body.

They were at the farm. It was the summer after graduation. Brandon’s mother was at her New York penthouse. Brandon had concluded that it was the ideal opportunity for them “to explore the fine art of sodomy.”

Phillip had forced a laugh, a little nervous at the glint in Brandon’s eyes that brooked no arguments. Besides a few relatively innocent incidents of schoolboy fumbling, Brandon was the only person Phillip had ever really been intimate with, and even with him – well, there had always been something between them since ever since they’d found themselves among Mr. Cadell’s favorites, but it was only been fairly recently that things had progressed into the sexual realm. Even though it was quite apparent that Brandon didn’t have any notions about taking things slowly, neither of them had clear ideas of what men did together, and it had become an ongoing effort of trial and error.

Brandon, as in all things, took the lead in these endeavors. He seemed to find sexual deviance just another thing that set him apart from a society of dullards, that made him enlightened and superior. Phillip, as much as his tastes did not run to perverse, found that Brandon’s attention was all-consuming - intoxicating to the point that Phillip would forget himself and let himself be pulled under by it.

And so he had ended up naked on Brandon’s bed, complicit, yet again, in one of Brandon’s acts of wickedness. He didn’t know what to expect, really; all he knew about the act was what he’d gathered from Plato’s _Symposium_ and from conversations among the boys at Somerville, who made it out to be something very illicit and painful.

He was a little surprised when Brandon remained fully dressed, and instead of touching him dragged the desk chair to the side of the bed and took a seat, simply studying Phillip with an appraising look that made Phillip want to pull the sheets up to protect his modesty.

Apparently finding nothing to object to, Brandon rose with a stern order for Phillip not to move, and then disappeared out of the room for a moment. When he returned, there was something in his left hand, his right hand in his trouser pocket. Only once he’d reached the bedside could Phillip see what he was holding - a shucked ear of Indian corn with kernels of crimson and purple-blue so deep it was almost black.

Phillip’s mouth felt dry. “I don’t think,” he started uncertainly. “I don’t…Brandon,” he said, almost pleadingly.

He earned a withering glare for his weakness. Brandon rolled the corn between his fingers. “It’s not even as big as my cock,” he finally said, his mouth quirking into a half smile. It was true; it was maybe the width of two thick fingers and about five or six inches long, but it wasn’t the size that caused Phillip’s apprehension so much as the fact that Brandon clearly meant this to be demeaning.

Brandon produced a container of Vaseline out of his pocket. Phillip’s eyes squeezed closed only to pop open when Brandon pinched his thigh rather harshly. “Don’t be a baby,” Brandon said. “Now…” He didn’t issue any instructions, just briskly pushed and prodded Phillip into the position he wanted, which turned out to be with his knees bent and feet on the mattress, a pillow shoved under his hips. Phillip felt distinctly absurd, but there was a smile on Brandon’s face.

“Hold this,” Brandon ordered with sardonic joviality, dropping the corncob onto Phillip’s chest. He crossed his legs, the picture of nonchalance, and then opened the container of petroleum jelly.

The squelch of his thumb dipping into the Vaseline was obscene. Phillip almost feared he was going to damage his teeth with how hard he was clenching his jaw as Brandon smeared the lubricant between his buttocks, zeroing in on his entrance and just circling it, pressing the pad of his thumb in teasingly a few times. He pulled his hand back to slick up his index finger and then spread more Vaseline around the rim of Phillip’s hole and then pressed the finger inside. It felt strange, but it didn’t hurt. Brandon worked it in and out a few times before he pressed his middle finger in along with the first and began stretching him. It ached and burned in a way that made Phillip try to strain away, but there was nowhere to go; Brandon simply adjusted his arm to move with him.

Brandon kept at it a long time, until Phillip felt greasy and badly in need of a bath, until Phillip was breathing raggedly – not trying to get away anymore, but sinking into the fog of sensations. Then, when Phillip had gone nearly mindless, Brandon held out his free hand for the ear of corn.

“This is fine,” Phillip said, desperate and breathless, “Why can’t we just do this?” Brandon arched his eyebrows, but didn’t dignify the plea with a response. Phillip knew, of course, how implacable Brandon was, but his mind continued to rebel at the idea of what Brandon wanted to do even as he placed the corncob into Brandon’s waiting palm. Brandon quickly but liberally coated it with Vaseline, a kindness he should be thankful for, Phillip supposed.

The corncob slid with in enough ease that Phillip flushed with shame at his body’s acceptance of the penetration. It felt unnatural, the way his body was wedged open by it, as unnatural, maybe, as society viewed their relationship.

Brandon shifted the angle of the chair and sat back to survey his work. Phillip couldn’t stop tensing, couldn’t stop the spasms in his lower body, clenching around the intrusion. He felt, maybe, that he could push the thing out of him. His head fell back, overwhelmed with the realization of how firmly the corncob was lodged inside of him.

“You look a little like you’re giving birth,” Brandon said. His voice contained a slight sneer, but the expression on his face was one of awe. “Do you want it out of you?”

Phillip didn’t respond. He was still moving restlessly, working his hips against the corncob. He felt a kind of throbbing all over, too hot, and, above all else, humiliated that the first thing to ever breach him like this was a corncob and that he was alone in this agony, shattering beneath Brandon’s imperious gaze.

It didn’t feel like anything Phillip would categorize as good, but even the most minute jerk of his hips made the corncob press against something inside him that made his cock start to swell with pleasure.

“Brandon,” Phillip murmured. Brandon’s eyes didn’t move to his face, but stayed fixed on the end of piece of corn stretching Phillip’s hole. “Brandon,” he repeated more urgently, reaching out to clutch Brandon’s pant leg. Brandon looked at him then. His eyes were bright with excitement and arousal. Phillip swallowed. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. “It would – it would be a better approximation if you…” He couldn’t finish the thought. The effort was too great, but Brandon, nevertheless, seemed to glean his meaning.

“That’s the spirit, Phillip,” Brandon said, so pleased that he stuttered a little over Phillip’s name. He leaned forward, slipping his hand under the arch of Phillip’s bent leg.

Phillip tried to watch what Brandon was doing, but he couldn’t make his eyes focus. His mouth opened and closed, tongue trying to form words, but nothing came. Brandon pulled the corncob out slowly. It made Phillip’s teeth clench. Each row of grains felt weird and awful as they tugged free of his body in a way that sent a zinging sensation all the way to the top of his head. The push of it back inside was just as intense. His erect cock twitched against his stomach. He felt as though he might die, and wondered, hysterically, if that was Brandon’s plan all along. He didn’t know anything anymore except for the devastating ecstasy that lit up all his nerves - that made his skin feel itchy and too small to contain him. He felt strung as tight as a violin string ready to snap.

Brandon curled his hand around Phillip’s erection and said, “You can come,” and Phillip did – came shuddering apart at the seams. A whimpering, hurting noise was wrenched from his throat as he convulsed. He didn’t know when it would end, only knew that when it did that he would be altered, knew that Brandon would own one more piece of his soul.


End file.
